Her

For unknown reasons, I said yes to an impromptu party plan that my colleague was organising. This was so not like me, saying yes to plans? Involving new people? Without cooking up seventeen different excuses and negative outcomes? I think work-from-home was finally getting to me and socialising might not be such a bad idea after all. Who knows there might be another anti-social domesticated sloth who might appreciate my presence there.

I’ve spent the last 20 minutes searching for anything remotely decent in my wardrobe. Man, I need to go shopping. The last time I went shopping was with my mom which explains why I look like such a vanilla IT guy who’ll help you fix your computer and then go straight back to work.
Also, PSA “girls like nerdy guys” is total bullshit.

Is my cellphone fully charged? Does my hair look too shabby? Should I drive? I shouldn’t. What if I get tipsy? If I don’t take my car it might take ages to get a cab. But where will I park my car if I do take it…

Alright act cool, pick up that red paper glass, take a few sips, don’t drop your smile, find a safe corner and look at the fairy lights to calm yourself. We’re not having another public panic attack, not today. I’m fine, totally fine. Made a few small talks, and these people are quite nice. I’m a total natural at beer pong and heck I even made a hundred bucks off the last poker round, so yay. This is going surprisingly well.

That is until my eyes met hers.

I still remember it like it was yesterday. Local high school, 9th grade, same batch. She used to wear her hair in a neat single braid with two strands strategically falling out. She never wore any makeup apart from lip gloss. Her clothing choices were impeccable — bold yet understated.

Her walk was something that I could never forget. I can recall the sound her blue sneakers would make when she would walk in the corridors. It would make me immediately aware of her presence and it would then become impossible for me to focus on anything else. My best friend used to try to calm me down and tell me to stop giving her so much importance. But I was never able to do that. I knew he wanted the best for me but he just didn’t get this. He hadn’t felt that way and didn’t understand that one can’t just stop these feelings.

I can never forget the first ever time she spoke to me. She needed help with her assignment. I had never imagined that my proficiency in computers could get the most popular girl to talk to me. I helped her with all my ability making sure nothing was out of place. We went out for coffee later where we met some of her friends. None of them seemed to like me very much though.
I remember the first nickname that she gave me. “Smorky” — kind of a play on the words smug and dorky. She said I was a cool nerd. Not the uncool boring introverted types but confident, outgoing, and witty. That was probably the best compliment I’d ever received. It made me blush.

Smorky is long gone. What remains of him is this fruitless fellow who has to practice his dialogues even before he passes a compliment.

Even after all these years, it's impossible for me to get over her. I wish I could crack open my skull and disconnect the neural pathways that were formed in my brain 10 years ago because of her. She’s wearing her hair short now but that strut is still there. Still looks like she owns the place. Even today looking at her makes my pulse quicken. It’s so disorienting looking at her after so long. Cheerful, oblivious, and surrounded by the same friends.

I was slightly surprised that these people were still together. I couldn’t believe they still wanted to be around each other and possibly reminisce about that part of their lives at all.

And then it occurred to me that not everyone had a deeply unhappy childhood like mine. Not everyone spent 15 years trying to overcome the first 15.

The thing about being bullied is that for the longest time you wouldn’t even realise that it’s happening.

The first time you walk into a room where you can sense everyone has been talking about you is rather counter-intuitive. You’ve been hearing loud whispers and soon as you walk in there’s a sharp drop in audio levels and you see numerous unpleasant glances thrown your way. You’ll brush it off and walk to the corner escaping those glances. Maybe look at the ceiling lights to distract yourself and make small talk with people you’ve never spoken to before. I experienced this in my school cafeteria which used to be my favourite place, that is until it became the go-to spot to get cornered and disgraced.

She told me once that I should “fit in” and be more amicable. And so I did. And then she told me that I should stop “trying so hard”. And so I did. And somehow that was really offensive. How dare I not put enough effort to behave the way I was expected to? How dare I not conform.

Seeing your books and notebooks out on a muddy field while it’s pouring is a sight you never forget. You watch as the inked text seeps into the puddles and eventually the sheets disintegrate. Accompanying this lovely sight are smirking faces and taunting laughs. You’ll think you’re doing yourself a favour by informing the authorities but very soon you’ll go from being the guy nobody even knew existed to being the most hated person. You’ll become the target of an online campaign aimed at getting rid of “tattletales”, the loser who people avoid at lunch tables, the dud who deserves to get locked in the washroom. Initially, you’ll be in denial thinking that you’re not as important or can do anything remotely threatening to offend people enough that they gang up against you. You’d be wrong.

She and her friends wouldn’t be satisfied just by causing me inconveniences. It was really important to them that I was weighed down, that I had nothing to be happy about or have any safe space. They made sure that nobody ever took a stand for me — that I faced it all by myself.

I can still relive, see, feel and experience all those instances like it was yesterday. It makes me wonder if it's still as fresh in the minds of these people as well. After all, it was all so well orchestrated on their part. Do they remember those days and high-five each other over their well-executed plans? Do they think about getting together and doing it all again… you know just for old time’s sake?

I’m truly the king of zoning out. Back in the present where my train of thoughts seemed to have taken me to a land far away, I was interrupted by folks who asked me to proceed to the dinner table. The food looks great. The people? Not so much.

There is always that one poor bastard who doesn’t eat meat and has the misfortune of being spotted by a bunch of anti-vegan fanatics. I see him struggling to get out of their grip and shake my head from a distance as they try to shove kebabs down his throat. It’s sickening how people can just never accept that not everybody has to conform, not everybody gets their “humour” and maybe, just maybe it’s not even funny. I wish those guys stop tormenting him. Why is nobody stopping them?

Someone does.

It’s her.